I Know What to Do
by Tressa
Summary: Chapter 3 added. Grissom finally figures out what to do about 'this'. The coffee date follows.
1. Chapter 1

Title: I Know What to Do

Author: Tressa

Rating: K+

Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me.

The characters and show are property of Anthony E Zuiker, CBS, Alliance Atlantis and Jerry Bruckheimer Television. No money is being made off of this. This is purely for the love of the shows and the characters.

Authors note: This is the first CSI fic I've ever written. I was afraid to write this, simply because the characters can be so complicated. I don't write romance or action stories. I like getting inside the characters heads, which makes this show a bit difficult. I hope that I was able to do it some justice.

It was amazing. He had faced down serial killers in interrogation. He was faced with the possible loss of one of his CSI's, only to rescue him from the grasps of insanity and death. He had done this job for many years. But, in those many years, he had run up against one person that really, truly, terrified him.

"Grissom! I have something over here."

Standing up from where he had been taking photographs of a lone shoe print, Gil Grissom carefully made his way to where Sara Sidle was focused intently on a window ledge. He bent down and began looking at the area where her finger was pointing. There, barely visible, was a partial print. He stood and nodded at her. "Nice catch, Sara. Lift it, we'll send it to the print lab."

Without so much as a word, she pulled out the necessary materials and continued her task.

Grissom stepped back and went back to shoe print. He needed a cast of it. This case was like so many other kidnapping cases he had worked. One missing child. A menagerie of suspects. Limited evidence. It was as if these people read books on how to kidnap.

Fortunately for Grissom and his crew, it didn't matter how efficient, how clever the criminals were. As smart as they were, his crew was smarter. You didn't get to be one of the top crime labs by pure luck.

However, all that didn't matter. What mattered was the boy. What mattered was that he was found. He quickly glanced at Sara and found her continuing the inspection of the window. What mattered was that he kept his mind off of her and focused on the task at hand.

He quickly returned the camera to its case, than removed the solution for making imprints from his kit. All they needed was one good copy, than they would have one more piece of evidence. One more link to the killer.

It took only a moment for the paste to dry and he was rewarded with a picture perfect copy of the print. He stared at it. Even after all this time, the wonders of criminalistics never ceased to amaze him. He was so engrossed in print that he didn't notice a second body until she was right up next to him.

"Wow. Whoever made the print had big feet."

Without even flinching, he began packing up his equipment. "Big is only dependent on the proportions, Sara," he said. "Maybe this person was tall." He turned to look at her . . . and froze. He knew she was close, he could feel her breath on his ear when she spoke. But it wasn't till he turned did he realize their proximity. He didn't move, for fear that he would move too close to her, or, even worse, farther away. He traced her lips with his eyes, than followed her nose up to where he was looking at her. She smiled, but didn't move.

His brain was screaming at him to move and continue to work. His personal relationships could wait. There was a boy missing. His heart, however, told him this was his chance. All he had to do was touch her. Whether it be his hand or his lips, she was right there. Forcing his personal feelings down, he had barely made up his mind to pull away when he heard his name being called.

"Grissom! Sara!"

The both turned. In the same direction. He winced as his head hit hers. She grimaced and turned to face the third party. "Yes, Greg?"

"I think we can rule out the wife as a suspect," he said, completely unaware of the tense moment he had interrupted. To which Grissom was thankful for. He needed his head in the game completely. Maybe he should switch Sara for Nick. It would be easier to concentrate.

"What do you have, Greg," Grissom asked, standing up.

"This is just disgusting," the younger man commented. After securing the imprint, both followed him inside.

"I was doing a routine search," Greg narrated as they made their way up the stairs. "When I started to notice the smell of decomp."

"We knew there was a dead body," Grissom stated. This wasn't a new thing. That was why he sent Greg in. He wanted him to find the body, who's ever and wherever it was.

"And I found it." With a bit of hesitation, Greg opened the guest room closet. The smell of decomposing flesh hit them like a slap of the face and only years of experience prevented them from regurgitating their most recent meal. Turning on his flashlight, he peered inside.

Then stepped back as the site before him flooded his senses.

Hanging from the heavy duty bars in the closet was the wife. Her arms were tied to the bar with leather belts. Her face had taken a beating. Another leather belt was tied around her ribcage and from the looks of it, was pulled incredibly tight. Her legs were bound together by another belt. The crisp, white sleep pants and shirt were stained with blood.

"She looks like a scarecrow," he said at last.

"A dead and bloodied scarecrow," Sara said darkly.

A quick glance at her told him everything he needed to know. "Sara? Could you please call David? Let him the circumstances so he can come in and process the body?"

"I'm not leaving, Grissom." Then, as to prove her point, she set down her kit and began taking out the necessary instruments to begin processing the scene. "Let Greg get David."

Ignoring Greg's reaction, he knelt down beside her kit and began putting things back inside. "Sara. Stop. Go wait for David." He didn't want her processing the scene. He wouldn't have her process the scene. He knew how these affected her. On a professional level, he knew she could explode at anytime and possibly compromise the case. On a personal level, he couldn't stand to see her in such pain when these cases came up. It hurt him to think of the memories that flashed through her mind whenever they had to deal with battered women. He wanted to protect her. He would give anything to protect her.

Even though he knew couldn't, didn't mean he wasn't going to try.

"Grissom, I'll be fine." She looked at him. The look in her eyes was not the same look he had seen before. He could see she was already becoming too emotionally involved in the case. He couldn't let that happen. She must have sense his reluctance, because she stared down at her hands in an almost childlike fashion. "I can handle this, Griss."

He stepped toward her. "But I can't."

Her head snapped up at his words and he found himself adverting his gaze. He'd already spoken up, he might as well finish. Turning momentarily, he asked Greg to please get David. Explain to him the conditions of the body, and show him where he's able to walk as to not contaminate the scene. He didn't know if Greg could sense what was going on, but he nodded and left without question.

As soon as the younger CSI was out the door, Grissom turned his attention to Sara. "I can't handle seeing you like this. Do you know how hard it is, watching you work yourself into the ground with these cases?"

She glared at him. "It's no different then you," she countered. "There are cases that you get so wrapped up in that when you do explode, it's like no one for that moment recognizes you."

"Those are you few and far between and you know it," Grissom said, his tone harsher then he would've liked. Unsure of what else to do, he grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her to look at him. "Sara. I worry about you. I worry about what some of these cases do to you. I want you to be able to move on with your life. I want you to have a life. Yes, we should work hard on these cases. We should put every effort into them." He paused. "I know how they affect you. I wish . . . I wish I could take away that pain that you feel." Finally realizing how much he had revealed, he pulled himself back into his professional shell. "There are plenty of other areas in this case that you can work, Sara. You're a good CSI . . ." He never finished his statement.

"Is that all I am?" she whispered. "A good CSI? Is that all I am to you?"

"Sara . . ." he started. But he never finished. She shook her head, than began to collect her things.

"I'll, uh, take the evidence we collected and run it back to the lab." Without so much as a word, she picked up her kit and left.

Grissom watched her go. He had messed up again. Sighing, he stepped back as David entered with Greg, than continued to process the scene.


	2. Chapter 2

See disclaimer from Part 1

The case was closed. The boy was found. The murderer caught and awaiting trial. The evidence they gathered was more then enough to convict him. Arriving at the lab to start his shift, he headed toward his office, only to find Sara waiting inside. He stopped at the doorway and watched as she picked at her hair, and changed her position every five seconds. She was nervous.

Instead of trying to be sneaky, he simply entered. It was his office. He could do what he wanted. But he didn't speak to her until he sat down.

"Sara. Is there something I can do you for you?"

She looked at him, quickly gaining control so that she looked calm and collected on the outside. "Um, yes. I was wondering what the deal is with the murdered wife?"

"The evidence is overwhelming," he reported. "They're not getting off."

She nodded, her joy evident in her eyes. "Good. I'm glad."

Silence.

Grissom normally liked silence. It was comforting, alone with your own thoughts. However, when there was someone else there, it was a completely different situation. It was awkward. He busied himself with different tasks, hoping that Sara would leave.

Fortunately, and unfortunately, she was as stubborn as he was.

"Griss? Can I talk to you for a sec?"

He paused for a second before nodding. It scared him when Sara said she wanted to 'talk'. He was afraid that it dealt with more then the case. "Sure. What did you need to talk about?"

She bit her lip and he could see her shift in her chair. Her eyes, seemed to dart around his office before resting on him again. "Do you remember a while ago, when I asked you to dinner?"

He nodded, not trusting his voice.

"And I told you that by the time you figured out what 'this' was, that it would be too late?"

He felt his chest tightened. He remained calm on the outside, but he could feel his mind begin to race with possibilities about what she was going to say. He wanted to look her in the eye, but was afraid at what his eyes would reveal. Instead, he stared at her forehead as she spoke.

"Grissom, I have tried. I have tried to move on and date other people. I've tried to have a personal life." She sighed loudly. "I've even decided to just concentrate on my life and not worry about anything else. But, I can't move on, Grissom. I can't. Not completely. Knowing that I can have a great time at a date, then come to work and see you. Work with you. It's difficult. As much as I try to separate my personal life from my work, it's too difficult with you working here."

He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted as she stood up and began pacing around his office. This wasn't good. Sara and pacing were never a good combination. He kept his comments to himself.

"This last case we worked on. It felt right. It always feels right when I'm working with you." Turning, she faced him, leaning on his desk for support. He stiffened, unsure of what she had intended to do. He hoped no one would look in at this time.

"Grissom. Gil. I have tried to make it be 'too late'. I've tried. How do you get you out of my head? How do I forget you?"

The last line pierced his heart, and he turned his gaze to his desktop, not wanting her to see him upset. She wanted to forget him. She wanted him to be out of her life.

"I mean, I could always go back to California," she said. "My supervisor had promised that I would be taken back at the lab there any time I wanted to return. But that still won't separate my feelings from me."

Go back to California? When had she considered going back to California? His heart raced as he tried to come up with a professional reason for her to stay. His list grew, but for some reason, these reasons never left his lips. What did, though, was something he still wasn't sure was the best reaction. Some days, he thanked his heart for thinking before his head. Others, well, he still wasn't sure.

"I hope you won't," he said. "I hope that you won't leave. I hope that you don't want to forget me." He forced himself to look into her eyes and saw surprise, shock, and, was that a bit of hope? Clearing his throat, he held out his hands as though the answer was in his palms. "I wasn't lying when I said I didn't know what to do about this. But," he continued, ignoring his reasonable side chastising him. "I was wondering if maybe we could discuss it. Over coffee. After our shift."

Her smile was worth the discomfort. Seeing her happy was all he needed to keep going through the day. She nodded, the light in her eyes brightening a bit. "I'd like that."

"Great," he said. "After work, then. Right now, you've got some evidence that needs to be stored."

She stood. "Yes sir!" Turning on her foot, she left his office, a little more spring in her step.

Allowing himself to watch her with small smile, he then turned his attention to the stacks of paper on his desk. Shift ended in an hour. But he wanted to make sure everything was done so that his mind would be clear for later.

Things were looking up.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer in Chapter 1

The diner was filled with early morning risers as well as two very tired crime scene investigators. The shift had ended and everyone else had gone home to sleep, or, in Catherine's case, help her daughter prepare for school. Two cups of coffee sat untouched on the table as waitress brought a bowl of fruit, muffin and a stack of wheat pancakes.

Grissom had hoped that coming to the diner for coffee and breakfast would have made breaking the ice a little easier. But here they sat, and not a word was said. He glanced up at Sara to see her poking at the fruit in her bowl, completely unaware of her surroundings. He frowned. The case was still getting to her. He needed something to distract her.

"You haven't touched your fruit bowl." He said, mentally slapping himself. This was proof enough of her affect on him. His comments always sounded stupid.

She didn't respond, instead, taking her fork and stabbing viciously at piece of cantaloupe.

"Whoa," Grissom said abruptly. Looks like she over looked the part of the breakfast being a chance to talk and instead was still dwelling on the case. "You won't eat meat, but you're willing to commit first degree murder on an innocent piece of fruit?"

Her lips twitched and he grinned. Glad that he was able to coax at least a small smile onto her face, he gently pierced a piece of melon with his fork and held it up. He would have preferred that she ate it directly from his fork, but was still satisfied when she used her own utensil to steal it back. "You'll never gather enough evidence to convict me," she teased, popping the fresh melon in her mouth. Good, he thought, she's lightening up.

Grissom held his hands out like what he was about to say was obvious. "Well, I'm here. I saw you. I'm a witness to the crime." Inwardly, he knew what she was going to say. He had dug himself into a hole, relying on witnesses to recount the crime. But, she seemed to be enjoying their little game and he was happy with that.

"But Grissom," she said, playing with a strawberry. "I though you said the only thing we could rely on was the evidence."

He shook his head. "Indeed, I did say that. However, look around and see how many tools could be used to make that hole?"

"I narrow it down to whoever had the fruit juice on the fork."

"And how many people is that?"

She stopped, a grin threatening to appear. Instead, she quickly ate the strawberry, than lay her fork down on the table. "So," she said hesitantly. "You wanted to talk?

The game died, leaving a very perplexed Gil Grissom. He had let his emotions run away with him. And he wasn't sure what to say.

"Yeah," he said, his voice taking on an unnatural nervous tone. "Sara. . . . I really don't know what to do."

"I guess the first question is whether or not you want this," Sara said softly, lowering her gaze to the table.

He watched her cheerfulness fade to uncertainty and not for the first time did Grissom wonder if he was the cause of her mood swings. He took her hands in his. They were soft, despite the rigors of their work. "Sara, if I wasn't the least bit curious, I wouldn't be here." Her stressed facial features softened and her lips turned upwards a bit.

"I don't," he paused, fighting for the right words. "It's difficult for me to respond to people emotionally." There. He said it.

The look she gave him was unreadable. It was combination of understanding, amusement, and frustration. He wasn't even sure if she wanted him to pick up on some unspoken emotion; if she did, he was finding it very difficult. He cleared his throat and continued. "And I know that this has put some . . . strain . . . on our friendship as of late." He saw her wince, though at what part he wasn't sure.

"Look," he said, giving in to his own frustrations. "What I'm trying to say is that I care about you in a way that's different from everyone else."

And that was his way of saying that he loved her.

There was another pause, and she ducked her head momentarily before looking up at him again, this time a small smile on her lips. "You once told me that confusion was the best place for a scientist to be," she said instead.

He nodded, not entirely sure where she was going.

"Well," she continued, expanding on her analogy. "When a scientist is confused, they turn to experimenting and reworking their work. They test out theories. They do anything to work through theconfusion." She swallowed. "So, what do you intend to do about your confusion?"

He finally caught onto what she was hinting at. "I have a couple theories," he said. "Care to help me test them out?"

"What'll be the first experiment?" she asked, playing along. He saw the glint in her eye and was pleased that he was able to do something to make her happy.

"I'm thinking of something along the lines of interrogation that includes some type of nutrients. Friday. Say, seven p.m.? I'll pick you up; we'll go to any restaurant you want."

The smile on her face was so natural and he felt himself relaxing in her joy. It was okay. There were going to be okay.

El fin.


End file.
